They were most of the way through a meeting when Nathan finally looked up from his texting. Charles was droning on and on about quarterly reports, but for the first time Nathan Explosion noticed the figure standing behind the CFO.
"Who's that?" Nathan demanded.
Offdensen looked over his shoulder at the man in question.
"That's my new assistant, Nathan. Now you boys have a public appearance sched-uled . . . Nathan?"
The rest of the band watched as the front man got up and prowled towards Offdensen's new assistant. He hadn't said anything to this point and was making a show of jotting down notes in his Blackberry. The fact that he kept glancing up warily as Nathan stalked around him kind of ruined the image of 'cool professional' he was trying to project.
The assistant was a young man with tousled blond curls, huge blue eyes, and a face so angelic and sweet a person was looking for the catch as soon as they saw him. No one that cute could be genuine. He'd look more at home in a diaper with a bow and heart-tipped arrows in his hand. He even wore tiny, heart-shaped gold earrings.
He wore a handsome black pinstriped suit that was no doubt ruinously expensive, replete with a charcoal shirt and a red tie. While a red tie could be quite professional, this one had a pattern of white and black hearts scrawled on it.
"My God," Nathan growled. "He's absolutely perfect."
The assistant threw a desperate look at his boss, while Charles merely looked mildly surprised. Pickles and Murderface exchanged a look. The tinny noise of Skwisgaar's picking increased slightly in rate.
"Wow, dat's pretty gay," Toki announced.
"Top a' th' morning to ya," Pickles muttered in what was supposed to be an Irish accent.
The leprechaun incident had not been forgotten and was brought up and flung back in the young Norwegian's face at every available opportunity.
Toki immediately turned beet red. Turning away from the group, he pulled his knees up to his chin, hugged his legs and pouted.
"Um . . . . . . uh . . . . . that's . . . . I'm glad you think so, Nathan," Charles finally sputtered. "If . . ah . . if we could get back to—"
"I mean, he's perfect! Did you hold a contest or something? How did you get – oh, wait, let me see your teeth."
The assistant let out a squawk and what was probably meant to be a very rude word as Nathan grabbed his head, wrenched it back and peeled apart the assistant's lips.
"Awww, no space," the frontman observed sadly. "If you had a space between your front teeth you'd be completely perfect."
A few of the band glanced at Murderface. The bassist's mustache shifted as if he were curling his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth.
Nathan released Charles' assistant, who blurted out: '-the FUCK?' before toppling over backwards.
Charles looked as his front man, looked at his spluttering assistant, wondered – not for the first time – what the hell was going on in Nathan's head, and fell back on manners.
"Um . . Nathan Explosion, I'd like you to meet my new assistant, Matthias Conway. Conway, this is –"
"Oh bullshit!" Nathan roared. "I don't care what his mother calls him!" The singer seized the unfortunate Mr. Conway by the shoulders and pushed him towards Charles. "You hired Mr. Humphries!"
The sharp, staccato bark of laughter that echoed through the meeting room startled the band. It startled Mr. Humphries nee Conway. It certainly startled Charles, who slapped his hand over his mouth in a vain effort to hold the mirth in.
"Oh dood . . . oh dood, he totally is!" Pickles sniggered, finally coming up to speed. "I used t' watch that show all th' time!"
"Just for the record," Conway sighed. "I'm a lot younger than John Inman – God rest his mincing soul – was when he played Mr. Humphries."
"What show ams dis?" Toki asked, finally coming out of his pout.
"Are You Being Served?," Charles answered, getting his amusement under control. "I . . .uh . . . it was a British comedy shown in the seventies and eighties. One of the most popular characters was a camp-tastic . . . . er . . ."
"Poof?" Nathan offered.
"Ish 'poof' British for 'fag'?" Murderface asked, eyeing Conway critically.
"Yes," the man in question sighed. "Though if you actually paid attention to the show, Mr. Humphries was bisexual."
"You really think so?" Nathan gaped.
"Well yeah; I mean, repeated references to 'straddling the fence' and being 'in the middle' and 'neither one way nor the other' . . . plus he had a girlfriend in the second series," Conway stated.
"There was a second series? Oh, we gotta get it! I have to see it! Hey." Nathan leaned down until his face was level with Matthias's. "Say it."
A begrudging smile flitted around the assistant's mouth.
"I've never tried to do an impression," he admitted.
"It won't matter how good you do the voice with your looks. Say it."
Matthias sighed once more, but grinned.
"Set me up," he requested of the frontman.
"Are you free, Mr. Humphries?" Nathan asked in a faux English accent.
"I'm freeeeeeeee!" Matthias Conway trilled in a high-pitched voice.
Nathan howled with laughter. Pickles giggled hysterically and even Charles was unsuccessful in keeping a straight face.
"Oh man, I like you," Nathan declared, hugging Conway to his side. "I hope you live longer than Charles' other assistants."
"So ams yous bisexuals likes de Mr. Humphries?" Toki asked curiously.
"You looksings for a date?" Skwisgaar sneered.
The rhythm guitarist blushed hotly and scowled at his band mates, prepping for another 'curl up and pout' maneuver.
"Ah, no, I'm not," Conway announced. "I'm all the way gay."
There was a long pause as the band took in the fact that Nathan Explosion was hugging a gay guy. There was a longer pause as Nathan Explosion took in the fact that Nathan Explosion was hugging a gay guy. After a few minutes, he nodded and slapped the smaller man on the shoulder.
"That's okay," Nathan announced. "Because you're Mr. Humphries. So it's okay. Oh. Wait."
The front man wrapped an arm around Conway's head as if he were shielding the blond from scandalous words and leaned towards Charles.
"Are you fucking him?" he hissed in a stage whisper.
"What?" The manager blurted.
"Is he a fuck toy? I mean . . . he's kinda pretty for a suit."
Charles gaped at the singer for a long moment.
"I'm not gay! Nathan you've met – talked to my lady friends on the phone!"
"They could be a front," the singer growled.
"Lady friends? Charles, you have lady friends?" Pickles asked. "As in, more than one? You dawg!"
"Can I say something?" Conway asked. "I don't know if Mr. Offdensen is gay or not, but I'm definitely not sleeping with him."
"How do we know that for shure?" Murderface asked suspiciously.
"Come on! Look at him! He's like, twice my age!" Matthias announced. "I could get a much better looking guy than him."
"You coulds bes after hims fors de money," Skwisgaar pointed out.
"I am not gay. I like women. Blondes in particular!" Charles stressed.
"He ams a blond," Toki said.
"But he's not a woman!"
"I get paid plenty just being his assistant," Conway said. "Plus I have a thing for long-haired guys. Green eyes are nice, too. Has anyone seen my Blackberry?"
Matthias pried himself out of Nathan's grip and started hunting around the floor for his device.
"Weeeee-ll, I gu-ess," Pickles allowed. "You sure he's not just a piece of desk candy?"
"Women, Pickles," Charles stressed. "Blondes with nice curves and stockings with seams up the back. And nice, full lips. And pretty blue almond eyes. I mean, how many Asians have blue eyes? Those are such rare jewels."
The manager paused.
Dethklok was watching him curiously. Conway had crawled under the table to try to retrieve his Blackberry.
"Ahem! That concludes the meeting, boys! If there aren't any other questions, we'll ajourn!"
"Dat means he wants us to leave," Pickles announced.
"Leaves hims alones with his littles blonds boy," Skwisgaar murmured, standing.
The rest of the band sniggered and filed out. Nathan was still muttering about the second series of Are You Being Served?
"I'm going to have to plan that damn dinner sooner than I thought," Charles sighed.
"Found it!" Conway declared.
Nathan slammed the door to the meeting room. There was a tinkle from overhead and the heavy iron chandelier smashed into the table, causing it to collapse. There was a certain gristly, organic noise from under the wreckage of the table.
"Ah . . . Mr. Conway?"
A pool of blood was seeping out from under the wreckage of the table.
"Well, it's the acid test," Charles sighed, turning back to his paperwork.
After about five minutes, there was an even gristlier organic noise and a sudden absence of the smell of blood. Matthias Conway dragged himself out of the wreckage of the table and straightened his suit.
"The bad news is: I'm going to need another Blackberry," he said, holding out the crushed remains of the personal assisting gizmo.
"That can be arranged. Well; I think I'm going to like having an immortal for a personal assistant."